Taking the bait — one writer overlooks sharks’ bad PR to join some for a swim

On the boat, possibly heading to my death, I was struck with a rare thought: I would rather be watching this on television. If you’re lucky, travel affords opportunities for adventure — though the Caribbean more typically includes opportunities for sunstroke and rum poisoning. But here, in the Bahamas, snorkelling with sharks suddenly seemed like a wonderful thing for someone else to do. The shore was quickly disappearing, and I was sitting on a bench in my bathing suit and flippers, my mask fogging up. After years of defending the shark as a misunderstood creature, I was finally being forced to walk the walk. Or swim the swim. Or bite the chum. Anyway, the point is that I was dreading my decision to leave my spoiled, Piña Colada-laden life on land.

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So why did I sign up for this? Why did I want to drag myself away from overeating in the sand to commune with killing machines? Maybe it was because I’d never done it before. Maybe it was because there are few things more amazing than seeing a wild animal on its own turf. Maybe it was because I recently moved in with my boyfriend, where we’ve quickly assumed a happy but hopelessly domestic home life — chicken pot pie, anyone? — and I was in need of a little danger.
Or maybe it was because the Bahamas Tourism people offered to foot the bill. Anyhow, when the Stuart Cove van pulled up to my hotel that morning, I forced myself to get in.

The bus was full of the exact people you expect to find snorkelling off the coast of a Caribbean island: Slightly bored looking teens and their sunburned parents; the child-free couples constantly touching each other; and the guy who drank too many mojitos the night before and insisted that the bus pull over so he could barf on some bougainvillea.

At Stuart’s Cove, a water activities centre located on the old set of the Flipper movie, I got into a boat with a couple dozen other tourists. Our first two snorkelling stops were relatively unimpressive reefs with a handful of fish and two graceful sea turtles who seemed unimpressed by our frantic splashing. We got back in the boat and headed for the third stop, where we anchored in much colder and deeper water.

The Caribbean reef shark — our aquatic host for the late morning — is found in tropical waters from Florida to Brazil, and they can reach up to eight feet long. While there are dozens of attacks on record, they have never been implicated in a human fatality. But knowing something rationally doesn’t necessarily quiet a gnawing sense of danger. I couldn’t see a thing in the black water below.

It’s only fair to note that sharks, like Mexico City, have an undeservedly terrible reputation; they’re still recovering from Spielberg-inflicted damage. A public awareness campaign, including documentaries such as the Canadian-made Sharkwater, has gradually increased their likeability and led to selective bans on the cruel practice of harvesting shark fins. (Though I’m writing this from Bangkok, where shark fin soup stalls are as common as hot dog vendors in Toronto.) A growing appreciation for sharks has also led to an increase in deliberate interactions, such as snorkelling with the big fish in the Bahamas.

It’s amazing what can suddenly make you abandon your inhibitions and jump into shark-infested waters. In my case, it was a fellow snorkeller who sidled on up and asked if he could stay with me during Caribana. I quickly found myself near the front of the line, where I was asked to double-check myself for any scraps of food. (It’s hard to imagine absent-mindedly forgetting the halibut stuffed down your bathing suit.) I eased myself into the water and worked one hand along a rope attached to the boat until I was at the very end. The next woman in line had trouble with her flippers, so I bobbed in the water alone and afraid to look down for what seemed like a long time.

When I finally did, I immediately saw the sharks, just 20 feet away, circling a cage of fish heads. My mind went blank and I was immediately enraptured by the fluid movements of a mother shark and her baby, who glided gracefully through the water and occasionally nipped, darting quickly, at the yellowtail snapper swimming nearby.

The myth of danger evaporated as quickly as the water on my shoulders in the hot sun. I was dying to let go of the rope, to swim alongside and put one hand on a smooth shark body. But in just minutes it was all over and I was back on the boat. As we headed for land, a quiet awe prevailed. A number of people were reviewing their underwater photos. One woman mentioned how cute the baby shark was. And no one seemed to be remember being scared.

If You Go

ACCOMMODATION
The One&Only Ocean Club on Paradise Island just celebrated its 50th anniversary. (Previous owners have included Merv Griffin and Donald Trump, but don’t let that spoil an otherwise delightful stay.) The resort is offering a special menu featuring 1962 classics like Steak Dianne and Stuffed Bahamian Lobster. Rates start around US$600. oceanclub.oneandonlyresorts.com

SHARKS
Stuart Cove offers half-day snorkelling excursions for US$70, which includes a hotel pickup, snorkelling gear and a lot of jokes about being eaten by sharks. stuartcove.com